It was early morning when Samara stepped out of her new home.

The bright sun and the chirping birds were a nice touch for any start of a new day, but for Samara it was all just another shade of gray. If she had a gun at hand, she would have shot those pesky little birds.

Sleep hadn't come easily to her, if at all. This marked the third day she had functioned without the ability to recharge her batteries. She felt worn down and drained, her vision at times unfocusing without reason.

There were few people on the street and each and every one gave her curious looks, but neither dared to stop and chat. It might be because of the morose/pissed off/half-dead look she temporarily displayed or because of the man following her like a faithful hound. Shumpert was just a distance behind her, matching her steps with extreme precision.

Even through the hazy fog of melancholy, Samara still observed the town before her. Everyone seemed free to walk about without any constraints, except for when the sun went down. It was curfew time then. A precaution against unnecessary accidents or deaths.

The metal gate she had been brought through was where the bulk of the Woodbury guards were stationed. There had to be a weak spot along the fence that she could exploit. The only problem was finding it without arousing suspicion.

"Enjoying life on the outside, sweetheart?"

Samara's skin crawled unpleasantly.

"Not anymore."

Merle chuckled as he matched her slow pace. He seemed as viciously cheerful as ever, that familiar wicked grin in its rightful place.

"I lost a pack of cigarettes on your fight with Micah. Betted that you'd die."

"If it made your life harder, all the better."

That grin took a sharp turn. "You're lucky we're out in broad daylight or else I would've broken your nose. Make it even more crooked than it already is. Call it an improvement."

"Lucky me." Samara hissed.

Go away, her mind chanted. Even if he was Daryl's brother, it still didn't make him anymore endearing than a bag of dog shit on fire.

"You look tame right now, but ol' Merle knows better." He lit himself a cigarette, those blue eyes never leaving her. "I can't wait for the day when you'll try to escape. I'm gonna be the one to come after you and this time, you won't get to live."

"As if that worked out for you in the past, or have you forgotten? How many men do you want to lose this time?"

Dangerous shadows darkened Merle's face.

"Mouthy bitch, ain't ya?" The man hissed threateningly as clouds of smoke coiled around his head. "You might be the Governor's new pet project, but don't think for a second that makes you untouchable. You can always slip and end up bein' geek food."

"Guess I have to watch my step." Samara inhaled deeply. Some of that nicotine odor entered her lungs and it felt like she crushed one of her painkillers and snorted it. She desperately wanted one a cigarette, but couldn't and most importantly, wouldn't ask this man.

It'll be tough from now on without the painkillers Stevens had been supplying her. Those had kept her afloat for the time being, but now she had to settle with vanilla pills that barely had any effect. She had to go on the dry again which was a horrifying thought. At least painkillers made her stay here more bearable.

"I heard you're going to fight Winchester." Samara hugged herself as her skin prickled from the cool morning air. She now wore a fresh set of clothes with was a nice change of pace from her earlier raunchy and ripped clothing. Not to her style, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

Merle grinned, putting aside his anger with her in favor of being reminded of this great news. "I can't wait. Haven't been in a fight in a long time. It's good to get the rust off these bones."

"I hope he beats the shit out of you."

"Now, that ain't nice, sweetheart." The man chuckled, not at all phased by her deadpan sass. "I am gonna be killin' the man that brought you here. How about some support? A peck on the cheek for your knight in shinin' armor?"

Samara grimaced. "I'd rather not catch any flees."

He leaned forward, much closer than she would have liked. She could practically feel his body heat. "Honey, I could have you screamin' if I wanted to. Trust me when I say this, some ladies like the cold, metal thrills." He waved his metal hand, throwing her words back at her. "This ain't just for show."

That grimace turned into a hateful scowl. The only way he would have her screaming was in suffering, not ecstasy.

"No thanks."

"I get it." He retracted, that insufferable smile further aggravating her already agitated mind. "Shacking up with those two women must have steered you towards beaver town. All those cold, lonely nights, huggin' yourselves for warmth. Must have been rug-muncher heaven."

"You've given it some thought, apparently. Maybe even too much." Her eyes thinned shrewdly. "Kept you up at night, did it?"

"You really wanna know?" His smirk turned lewd, his thoughts already transparent from that one leer. "I can go into a whole lot of detail."

"I'd rather vomit."

Merle laughed.

Samara looked at him shrewdly. He was such a polar opposite to his brother and yet, in some regards, they were almost the same. The woman easily understood why Daryl had turned out the way he did. Having a brother like Merle coupled with the shoddy life he had had mustn't have been very nurturing…or educational.

After meeting this man, Samara was glad Daryl had managed to part ways with him. It had given the younger Dixon time to grow and develop in ways he mustn't have been able with Merle in the picture. In short, he became a better man.

"What?" Merle sneered as he noticed her keen stare.

"How the hell did someone like you end up here?"

"That's a long story. I wasn't in the best of shape when the Governor found me 'cause of this." He petted his metal prosthetic with odd affection. "He should have just kept on going, but he didn't."

Samara grunted. "You just don't seem the type to listen to others."

"I ain't, but we all gotta adapt."

The Native wondered what the Governor did to tame such a wild beast. From the others description of Merle, he was the type to march to the beat of his own drum.

"How did that happen?" She pointed at the hand, fully aware of the story but wanting to gouge his reaction.

There was a faraway look about Merle, as if seeing another time and place where Samara had no access to.

"Before Woodbury, I was with a group outside Atlanta. Went on a run in the city when we got cornered in a building. I was left there, cuffed on the roof like an animal because they thought I was too much trouble." He smirked knowingly. "Guess I was. I was high almost all the time and I get rather rowdy when I'm on powder." The grin slipped off his lips faster than it had appeared. "But that ain't no excuse. The people that left me there, I'm gonna find them one day and they're gonna pay."

Understandable. Samara would have done the same in his shoes, but this just made her apprehensive of having this man follow her to the prison. If his hatred ran that deep he could cause more trouble than he was worth.

"They could be thousands of miles away. That or dead."

"Nah…They're alive. I can feel it. You can't fool ol' Merle's senses. They're as sharp as a fox's."

"I'm guessing it was your fox-like senses that found us in Geneva."

Merle winked. "That's a secret."

"There was a blizzard." She stressed, needing to know the answer. "How the hell did you find us?"

Merle threw away his now useless cigarette.

"You hid your trails nicely that day." A sly grin gave him the appearance of the fox he spoke off. "You get my respect for that, but I've been in this game far longer than you, honey."

"You should have let it go." Instead of following them and dooming so many others to their deaths.

"You're the ones that shot first, not us."

"Like you weren't going to." Samara spat back, knowing full well that was what had been in his mind.

"Well…I can't lie on that." He chuckled, having been caught red-handed. But that amusement soon disappeared leaving only hard edge. "What happened to your girlfriends?"

Samara shrugged indifferently.

"You're gonna talk one day. You can't keep silent forever."

"If I don't, somebody may find out about our little rendezvous and then it's going to be lights out for both of us." Did he forget the predicament they were in? "Despite recent events, I'm in no rush to die. Are you?"

Merle scoffed and looked away, disgruntled.

"But you are right on one thing." She stopped and came very close to him, more than she would have preferred. Merle watched her guardedly, his metal-hand poised to strike. "We are going to have a talk, a very introspective one. And when that happens, you'll come to my side."

When he learned of Daryl, the man won't be able to say no to her proposition.

"Bitch, the only way I'm ever gonna come to your side is if you use that mouth of yours for somethin' else other than talkin'."

Samara grimaced.

"You're a pig."

Merle smirked.

"Oink-oink."

Samara sighed. For three hours now she had been writing what Milton dictated with fervor. Another experiment, another theory, another boring new case.

It all felt so repetitive since the outcome would be the same—there was no cure for this plague of undeath.

The man seemed more himself today. After his recent close brush with death, Samara had thought that Milton would remain shaken for a longer period of time, but he appeared more or less fine. There was some tough hide hidden beneath that soft exterior after all.

"Milton, let's take a break. It's three o'clock." She threw the pen away and lounged back in her seat, her hand exhausted. "If I write anymore, my fingers will start bleeding."

"Oh, it's been that long?" He followed the clock in wonder. "I haven't noticed."

"I'm surprised your voice isn't hoarse."

As Samara stretched her stiff joints, she failed to noticed Milton bringing a picnic box.

"I brought lunch." He settled the container on the desk and started taking out its content. "Ham and cheese sandwiches with some salad, tomatoes and cucumbers. Oh, and tea. Although, it's probably cold by now, but I have a portable stove here."

Samara watched as the man neatly arranged plastic plates for both of them with cutlery and ceramic mugs.

"You made lunch…" Her eyes dragged over the food covered in foil before they slid over to the man unaware of his action's significance. "for both of us?"

"Yes. You don't like sandwiches?" He frowned in apprehension. "Darn, are you a vegetarian?"

Her smile was out of place. The awkward man couldn't see what she was seeing. This looked like a low-maintenance date than a captive with her captor.

It's kinda cute, in a goofy sort of way.

"No, just…" She sighed before shaking her head. Forget it. He didn't need to know. "Thank you."

As Milton busied himself with heating up the tea, Samara looked over the lunch with a grimace of disgust mixed up with unspeakable hunger. She had had to force herself to eat this morning, only to throw it up in the end. Even water had a bitter taste to it that left her without thirst.

She hoped to the gods that she wouldn't throw up in Milton's face. She needed him on her side.

Milton brought the steaming tea, pouring it into her mug with a small hint of a smile. Samara watched him intently and wondered if he knew what he was doing, but by his general obliviousness, it didn't seem like it.

"You haven't been around women much, have you?" The Native asked with the grace of a battering ram.

Startled, Milton managed to splash some droplets of steaming hot water on his hand. The Native watched unaffected as he hissed and nursed his reddening skin.

"Uh…I…" Clearing his throat, the man placed a cool towel over his injury. "Before the Turn, I was a loner. I preferred the silence to people's company. I had my books and my experiments. I thought that was all I needed until the dead started walking." He smiled without humor for a moment. "Funny how situations change. If it hadn't been for the Governor I wouldn't be here."

"He saved you?"

"Me and him, we're not from Woodbury. We came here with several other people last summer." A different time and place seemed to be reflected over his eyes. "Good thing we did, because I hated being on the road. Moving from one place to another is exhausting."

"I believe always being on the move is the best way to keep yourself alive. When you stagnate in one place, you risk getting spotted by walkers or other people."

"True, but what kind of life is that?" He watched her with melancholy. "You don't even have time to breathe because you're already thinking of the next route to take. I couldn't live like that. You have uncertainties at every corner, but at least here I know I'm safe."

She scoffed. "For how long, though?"

"For as long as the walls hold."

Definitive. The man was aware that death loomed over his precious sanctuary, but he chose to live in it than brave the outside world. It was just too scary. Some people too accustomed to the safety of four walls could not see the endless possibilities ahead of them.

Samara liked to liken them to zoo animals, unaware that there was life behind those sturdy bars.

Oh well…To each their own.

"Are you coming to the fight?"

"No."

That was…decisive.

"Too much violence for you?"

He shook his head, unwilling to look at her. "I just can't watch people debase themselves in such a way. We're not animals."

"We are actually." Samara smirked coldly. "The only difference is we have some intelligence, some more than others. It's for the greater good, anyways."

"How can you say that? You could have ended up there. You could have been the one fighting for your life for the entertainment of others."

"True, but I'm not. As I said, some are smarter than others."

The man shook his head again, visibly upset by her words. "Still, the means do not justify the ends."

"Does it matter? As long as it's the desired result, who cares how it's accomplished."

Milton sighed dejected. "I can see why the Governor kept you alive. You're no different than them."

That did not sit well with the former marshal as she glared viciously.

"I'm nothing like your people!" Samara spat nastily making the man swallow nervously. "I would never even think of making entertainment out of people's lives. I'm not saying I'm a good person because that would be a lie, but even I have my boundaries."

"I'm…sorry. That was uncalled for."

Samara nodded, sensing the man's sincerity.

They lapsed into silence as they ate their breakfast. Having recovered from his meeting with the boiling water, Milton tentatively drank from his tea. It was ginger and lemon flavored, good for the body's health, or so Milton said.

The food tasted horrible. Under any other circumstance, it would have been a wonderful treat, but right now to Samara it was nothing short of ash. It was like sand passed down her throat, sliding tortuously slow to her stomach. It was an awful feeling and her stomach concurred as it wanted to regurgitate its new contents.

"I'm actually surprised that you're still here." Milton brought her out of her internal hell with an off-handed remark. "I thought you would try to escape at least once after witnessing everything."

She thought so too, but logical circumstances had her delaying her impatient flight. "I have nowhere to go. And it's not so bad here despite everything I've seen so far." Lie. "You have your own apartment. Food, water, clothes, job. I'm content."

So many lies to keep her life intact.

"Our own little Utopia..."

Samara detected a trace of sarcasm in his words.

"Milton…" She swallowed the small bite of her sandy sandwich. "Tell me about Merle."

He was the one she wanted to know more of. Merle was her ticket out of here after all.

This turn in conversation didn't seem to sit well with Milton as his face lost any trace of good will. He downright grimaced. "Why would you want to know about that…man?"

It seemed Samara wasn't the only one that disliked the gruff man's presence.

"Curiosity."

Milton sighed as he dropped his meal on his plate and leaned back into his chair. "Merle is the type of person you wouldn't want to meet on an empty street at night. That should tell you everything. To tell you the truth, the Governor should have never let him stay here. He's a menace."

"He seems to listen to him."

"Even a pet dog will one day bite the hand that feeds him. I've told the Governor that, but he won't listen."

He already did.

"He has faith in Merle."

Strange people the Governor collected, but not without reason. Merle was a brute, but every group needed a bruiser that could handle anything thrown at them. The Governor knew how to pick his people—ruthless, cunning, tough and with a worthy sense of survival. The only reason she was still alive and breathing.

"He told me he was left to die by his group."

By Rick and T-Dog.

"Yes. In that respect, I find him tragic. I mean being betrayed by your own people, I can't even imagine that. Worse, he had to leave his brother behind."

"Brother?" Samara feigned ignorance.

"Daryl. He was with the Atlanta group. Merle still looks for him every time he goes on a run. He thinks he's still alive somewhere. It's sad, really. They will probably never meet again. The odds are against them. If Daryl is still alive, that is."

He isn't.

That churning feeling in her stomach became acidic. She could taste the bitterness on her tongue. No way could she finish her sandwich anymore.

"What about the Governor? What's his story?"

The other mysterious figure that greatly piqued her interest.

"I…" Milton frowned and crossed his arms over his chest defensively. Even his voice took on a different tone, evasive and slightly fearful. "Shouldn't talk about that and you shouldn't ask."

"Is it that much of a secret?"

"I know enough not to speak about him. If he tells you, then that's fine, but I won't. Sorry."

This Governor was more guarded than a pious virgin, Samara thought disgruntled. She couldn't understand why the secrecy, but then again she wasn't exactly the most forthcoming of people. She understood the need for privacy in this messed up world, especially since it could be used against you.

"You don't have to apologize."

Samara gently grabbed one of Milton's crossed arms and curiously observed the aftereffect. It was instantaneous. He turned beet red and sputtered, retracting his arm from her soft touch as if once more burned. The man cleared his throat and fiddled with his glasses as a means of distraction, before continuing with his lunch in silence, avoiding her gaze entirely.

She could use him, Samara thought as her sharp gaze appraised him like a prize. This was someone that probably never had a girlfriend or ever even reached third base. He was a naïve puppy and she bet if she gave him even the slightest bit of attention, he would go belly up. Virgins, emotional or otherwise, were the most easy to manipulate.

Yes…

Having someone on her side in this fucked up place would be to her greatest benefit. And why not start with the weakest link?

In the silence of his cell, Dani worked relentlessly.

He hadn't been out of his tiny, oppressing confinement since he had seen his brother die in the arena. He could tell the passing of time by his guard's food deliverance. Twice a day, breakfast and dinner, and he had counted four days since then.

Four days of wallowing in misery and anguish in this dark room. Beating up the walls and destroying his mattress out of blind fury. His mind was always on his twin as the loss felt like a cutting, deep void in his soul. As if half of him had suddenly been torn away and scattered to the wind.

He felt hollow, but as soon as his faculties came back from the emotional Hell he had been engulfed in, Dani felt that nothing else mattered but cold, hard vengeance against the person that caused this suffering.

And that bitch was going to pay, one way or another.

Grunt.

With all his strength he pulled out one of the bed sprains. Sweat poured down his face as he looked over the rusty metal with newfound determination.

But it wasn't time yet.

Soon.

The woman will die soon.

He will embrace death if that meant appeasing his brother's restless soul.

Samara stood hidden in the shadows of the pews, away from the prying eyes of anyone curious. The people of Woodbury seemed to have developed a fascination with her. They openly stared, but never approached. Samara was the shiny, new addition to their little kingdom so their gaze naturally gravitated towards her. She hated this feeling, like an exotic animal put on display. She understood natural human curiosity, but that didn't mean she wanted to be the subject being cast a bright light on.

Her shadow was not too far away, mingling with the other soldiers of Woodbury. He definitively was the quiet, serious type, only every now and then adding his two cents. Samara could only see his profile, but she knew he was supervising her from the corner of his eye. He may seem casual among his peers, but the Native recognized the signs that he was up and alert.

The Governor, as always, was in the middle of the arena delivering his warm, grandiose speech and the people seemed to gobble it up like it was Scripture. Samara couldn't understand how these people actually believed every word that came out of his mouth, but considering how much of a presence the man was and how safe he made them feel, it would be strange if they didn't. For them, the Governor held the beast raging inside him at bay. He was their savior so they should repay him by obeying his every command.

Keh.

Merle stood on one side of the arena while Winchester in the other, flanked by two Woodbury men. The older Dixon was pumped as he could barely stand still, his eyes fixated on the Texan officer. No doubt carnage was on his mind as Samara could practically see his eyes sparkle with anticipation. Winchester wasn't as excited from the way he stood so resigned. His eyes were actually jaded as he looked over his surroundings, finally landing on her, half hidden in the shadows.

He smirked, but with a mocking intonation.

Samara stepped out of her protective cover.

Her sudden movement alerted her guard who promptly turned his head to watch her actions.

"Shumpert, was it?" Samara stood a meter away from him, highly aware that his company was staring at her like wolves.

He nodded.

"Can I talk to Winchester?"

His brow crinkled, but the lines disappeared just as fast.

"As long as you don't make any physical contact."

The hidden 'I'm watching you' was left unspoken. They both knew it without having to voice it.

Winchester watched her approach, that smirk of his having faded to a straight line. His guards were also watching her cautiously, but Samara kept herself as non-threatening as possible.

"Old man."

Samara greeted as she watched him from up close. He seemed thinner and more haggard than before. Captivity had that effect.

Winchester sighed as he looked over the crowd cheering for their soldier, while simultaneously glaring and shunning the doomed man.

"Can't believe this is how it ends." The Texan grimaced, his eyes holding a tiny flash of malice. "Dinner time entertainment for people zombified by TV culture and told how to live their lives by advertisements. People that believe anythin' they hear with a large smile on their faces while their brain leaks like puss out of their ears. This is what I spent thirty years to protect, marshal. Upstandin' citizens that at first sign of trouble turn to their baser instincts, no better than the scum I locked up."

"Doesn't seem worth it, does it?" Samara crossed her arms, a small nasty leer playing on her lips. "I never held any such illusions. Protecting people was never my mantra. To me, it was just a job, just like any other. Good or bad, people can just go die for all I care."

"Not a people person I take it."

Samara scoffed. That was saying the least.

"You don't think you're going to win?"

From what his body language emanated, it conveyed that he had already given up a long time ago.

"I'm too old to fight." Winchester confirmed her belief. "I don't think I want to anymore."

"Doesn't matter to me." The woman shrugged, unaffected by his morbid outlook. "This just tells me I'll get to see the bastards that killed my friends get their due."

Samara didn't despise this man. If it had been under different circumstances the two of them would have gotten along greatly, but his actions and that of his collective had sealed his fate in her eyes.

He had to die.

But Winchester remained unaffected by her callous nature. "I heard about what you did to Micah. Can't say I blame you. We made the bed, now we have to lie in it." That air of resignation took a sharp turn as his eyes narrowed resolutely. "But just because I don't wanna fight doesn't mean I'm just gonna roll over and let that asshole do what he wants. He's gonna have to fight for it."

So…you still have some bite in you left.

Seeing him struggle was a better alternative to him just lying there like a vegetable, waiting for the knife to drop. If Winchester had even an unconscious smidgen of hope that he will survive tonight and upon realizing that it had been a dream from the start would be the perfect scenario. Seeing that hope in his eyes crash and burn would give Samara the greatest high ever.

Seeing Daryl's killers suffer, even a little, was what she coveted. They didn't get to die so easily.

"I'm surprised you're here." Winchester observed her from head to toe, inspecting her bandaged injuries and her overall healthy state. Whatever impression he had that she was out of her bonds, he would not share it.

Samara grinned nastily. "I wouldn't miss this."

Winchester smirked humorlessly. "You are a cruel woman indeed."

The Governor stepped off the lime light.

"It's show time…" Winchester sighed dejectedly, but his gaze was clear. He turned to the Native one last time and gave her a curt nod. "Goodbye, marshal."

Samara watched as he was uncuffed and pushed into the ring.

As before, the Governor joined her side and they both watched as the people in the pews exploded with excitement as the first punch was thrown.

"You can feel it, can't you?" The Governor mused softly as he watched in fascinated scrutiny. "The bloodlust?"

"It's like honey. Sticky and revolting on the tongue."

These people…they were like feral dogs growling and barking for the last bone. Samara could feel their good spirits like cold drops of dew rolling slowly down her spine.

"It's almost like they're chantin'." The Governor's voice took on a mesmerized characteristic. "I wonder if this is how the Romans felt, wachin' people savagely get mauled at their behest."

"Those were much more grandiose fights. They had chariots and tigers and shit."

"True, but I bet it's the same feelin'."

Samara gave the man a side glance. The way he was dissecting everything—from the two fighters to the excited people—reminded the woman of a predator in waiting.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

It couldn't be more obvious. The man was generally a closed book, but the electricity in the air seemed to have loosened those bonds keeping him tightly shut.

"Can't say that I'm not." The man smirked, not even ashamed by his open display. "It's always fascinatin' to see human nature at work. The ugliness and beauty of it."

"So which is it this time? The beauty or the beast?"

His eyes shined intimidatingly. "Can't it be both?"

Samara ripped her gaze away. She did not like looking at this man, especially when that darkness inside him made its ugly appearance.

The fight was as Samara had expected. Merle had the advantage while Winchester struggled to keep himself afloat. He was breathing raggedly in comparison to the Georgia man with sweat pouring down his brow. This was a man out of practice with physical aggression and it was painfully visible.

Merle had no mercy in his strikes. Even with his handicap, he was fast and brutal and knew where to hit to hurt the most. The model of an experienced brawler. Samara kept her focus on the older Dixon—how he moved, his response time, his natural instincts, the strength behind those punches; everything that could give her insight into how he operated. If it ever came down to a fight, she'd rather not go into it blindly.

Winchester didn't stand a chance. It was painfully clear who would win.

"How are you accomodatin'?"

The question seemed intrusive rather than thoughtful.

"As good as I can."

The Governor gave her a pointed look, but she did not cave under his domineering presence. Samara casually watched the fight, ignoring the man beside her.

Winchester fell to the ground as he received a particularly brutal uppercut. Dazed, he attempted getting to his feet only to fall back down. This wasn't even a fight, it was a beat down. Merle was just toying with him, but nobody seemed to mind. It was just entertainment as usual.

Even just from watching this display of aggression, Samara felt her body ache. It had been days since her fight with Micah, but her bruised flesh still hurt. It will take another week or so until the discoloration faded and her skin returned to its initial russet tint.

Merle hollered, inciting the crowd to cheer for him as Winchester struggled to breathe properly from the barrage of kicks he had received to his chest not a minute ago. Samara held no pity for him and even when it tried to rear its head, she reminded herself of Daryl hanging off the ceiling, blue skinned with veins bulging, his life slipping away forcibly; she reminded herself of Maggie dying in excruciating pain at the hands of the undead; and finally she remembered Oscar, his death a result of a botched escape and then cremated like a useless piece of trash.

She could smell the Texan's despair. This was a shitty way to die after all, but to be thoroughly humiliated was even worse.

Using the small bit of energy he had left, Winchester rose to his feet and in a moment of distraction, managed to punch Merle strongly. The Georgia man staggered as blood gushed from his nose, staining his lips and chin. Even from this distance, Samara could spot the malevolence in Merle's piercing gaze. He was beyond angry.

The beating he delivered to the Texan even had Samara wince.

It was short lived, though, as Winchester remained on the ground coughing with blood splattered over his face and his flesh swelling.

"It's over."

The Governor's deep twang startled the Native out of the reverie she had been tangled in.

Yes, it was. Winchester was no longer able to stand, much less fight.

Merle looked over their way, to the man in charge. A simple nod from him had the Georgia man smile in murderous glee and Samara knew these were the Texan's last moments alive.

Merle walked calmly over to the downed man. Through swollen eyes, Winchester saw his Angel of Death stand above him, eyes empty of any remorse or pity. To him it was a simple task of putting down a useless dog, not an actual human being.

Samara's fingers curled into fists as Merle's boot rose and crashed over Winchester's throat. With a sickening crunch, Winchester's neck snapped and his last breath escaped his lungs in a pitiful wiz.

The crowd erupted into pandemonium, leaving only Samara and the Governor as still as statues, their eyes fixed on the dead man.

"Well, that's that." The Governor simply stated.

Easy to say, but not see. It had been a ruthless fight, leaving no question as to who the winner would ultimately be. With his arms up in the air, Merle peacocked around the ring with a large grin on his face and his eyes sparkling with adrenaline, not even caring that blood still painted his face. Nobody seemed to care that in the middle there was a badly beaten and bruised corpse with its neck caved in.

A slither of pity escaped the Native as she watched what used to be Winchester now reduced to nothing but a slab of broken meat. But that pity soon dissipated as dark memories reminded her to never feel regretful over an enemy. This was karma and it was glorious.

As Merle did his victory tour, his gaze connected with Samara's. His smirk widened and he winked. It was a hostile one that conveyed his physical superiority. He was the greater predator between them and he wanted her to know that.

Samara grimaced.

"I think I've had enough."

She turned and left the frenzied crowd, unwilling to stare at that shit-eating grin Merle had on his face for not even a second more.

"'Night."

The Governor's amused tone reached her ears and she realized with bristled hairs that he had noticed their silent interaction and found it humorous.

Bastards…

Daryl sighed in frustration.

He and Michonne were on house watch again, but it was the same as it had been the first time they came upon it. The building laid empty and abandoned by its temporary occupants.

"Ain't nobody comin' back here." Daryl addressed the giant elephant in the room. "We're just wastin' time."

Michonne took a deep breath as she rearranged her position against the base of the tree.

"I agree. Those people are not coming back. Something must have happened."

"We should go back to searchin' other places."

They couldn't stagnate in one place. Samara and Oscar had been taken somewhere else, that was fact…or only Samara, since Daryl firmly believed that the charred corpse was Oscar. It wasn't because he wanted to believe that the man was dead, but because there was no other explanation for the body. That cremation had been done in a hurry and without any drop of sentiment. Daryl would have done the same if he had been faced with the death of a stranger so close to home.

It was an unfortunate ending for the man, if it had been really him. Daryl might not have been close to Oscar, but he had been a comrade and they had struggled through some hard times. He just wished his death had been painless.

"Where would we even start?" Michonne looked at him skeptically. "We found this place by pure chance. We won't get this lucky next time."

The hunter knew that. It hadn't been skill that had brought them to this house, but a happy coincidence.

"You givin' up?"

The glare he received was scalding. He shouldn't have implied that. "I'll look for Samara to the ends of the Earth if I have to, but I need a direction. I can't just search aimlessly."

Even Michonne knew her limits. Georgia was just too large of a state for just a small group of people to search it.

"South then. Let's go south."

It was a random direction. Daryl himself had no idea where to look. He was blind to what fate laid ahead.

Michonne sighed in futility, herself just as lost.

"As good a direction as any I guess. But just in case, someone should be here at all times."

Daryl nodded.

Just in case.